The next morning, Donnelly sat in his study chair before his oak desk. Last night, he’d written a missive to Captain Bourbon about the drawing Sophia had discovered and had Sawyer hand the letter directly into the man’s hands at the gaming hell he owned near the docks. He’d requested a meeting with Bourbon, as soon as the captain was available. Certainly, the drawing seemed to have been shoved haphazardly into the book, which he should have noticed in the week since his return. Thank goodness Sophia had.

“Are you certain you don’t wish for a glass, my lord?” Woodman waited at attention inside his doorway, his concerned expression likely as grave as his own currently was.

“I’m certain. A glass will only hinder my consumption of this fine claret.” He swigged a mouthful straight from the lip of the bottle he’d seized from the cellar after seeing Ashten, Ellie, and his ravishing Lady Sophia Trentbury away. Was he drowning his sorrows over letting Sophia go? Yes. Was it helping? No.

Allowing himself to be alone with Sophia had been a terrible mistake. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her, or it seemed his mouth. He frowned as their time together yesterday afternoon rushed through his mind. From the moment he’d touched his lips to hers, he’d gotten lost, while her admittance that she wished to travel to Jamaica and wed his uncle had completely disarmed him. He wanted to travel the world with her, to visit faraway places that only two lovers could.

Yes, he wanted to be her husband, his soul-deep need for her as strong as ever. Unfortunately, he couldn’t, not with his currently difficult circumstances. Maintaining her safety was imperative.

Another swig and he tossed the empty flagon in his wastebasket.

It hit with a clink as it knocked the other two empties. “Woodman, have a bath readied for me, then breakfast served in the dining room after I’ve bathed. Also, ensure Parker is aware I need the carriage brought around at the strike of nine. I’m due to collect the Duke of Ashten at Blackgale House at half past the hour, so we can spend the day going through my father’s files at the docks.”

“I’ll organize everything now, my lord.” With a tug of the cuffs of his impeccable gray jacket, his butler disappeared out the door to see to his instructions.

The man was irreplaceable, always on hand and never questioning a request.

Quite the opposite to Ashten’s butler. His friend often grumped and grizzled about his man, Gorman, that his butler never knew when to keep his nose out of his business. Ashten though had come into his title at a very early age, a mere five when his parents had passed away in a tragic accident, Gorman attending him ever since.

As his father’s second born son, James had never expected to receive the title or the lands he had. It had always belonged squarely to his brother and—damn it, but he missed George and always would.

His brother might have been five years older than him, but they’d always been close, finding mischief together no matter their age.

At twelve, it had been George who’d partnered him in their lessons with the saber, even though his brother was so much stronger. George had held back on his strength to ensure their sparring sessions remained a learning experience rather than a sound beating.

George had also been there the first night he’d over imbibed on whisky at a tavern, and fallen off his horse on his ride home. Sixteen, he’d been at the time, his brother dragging him over his saddle in front of him and sneaking him in through the servants’ entrance, so their father would never discover his completely and utterly foxed state.

At eighteen, it had been George who’d taught him how to enchant the ladies. His brother had been rather popular within Society and intended on taking a wife before the end of this year. George would have made a wonderful earl.

Instead, he now had to fill some rather large shoes, and without a wife at his side to aid him. What he wouldn’t give for his wife to be Sophia.

With his sweet minx reigning supreme in his mind, he drew forth a leaf of parchment and set about writing her a letter, as he’d done every day since they’d met, not that he’d ever dispatched any of those letters to her, or told her about them. No. Writing down his deepest thoughts had been a way for him to remain close to her, healing words which he allowed to flow from his mind onto paper right now.

 

My dearest Sophia,

Yesterday I succumbed to your charms and took liberties with you that I shouldn’t have. I would beg your forgiveness for doing so, a hundred times over if I could, but unfortunately being the cad I am, I would gladly take advantage of you all over again if you so placed your ever-desirable self within my striking distance. Since the moment we met at the Bradford’s ball, I’ve been smitten with you. You hold a warmth in your heart that I adore, will always adore.

Do you remember our first meeting?

I’ll never forget it.

While the music had played in the ballroom and everyone danced, I stepped outside for some fresh air and there you were in the garden, a golden-haired enchantress standing atop an overturned wooden pail at the base of an oak tree, moonlight shimmering down over you. You wobbled precariously as you tried to rescue a kitten which had gotten stuck between two branches.

Such a bewitching sight you made.

Then of course you lost your balance and I had to bound over bushes to get to you, which thankfully I did. You toppled with the scrawny wee kitten in hand, and I snatched you up in my arms. Your sweet white rose scent surrounded me, just as it did yesterday while we were together in the library.

That night so long ago, I rescued a treasure. My treasure.

Unfortunately, now isn’t the right time for us.

It might never be, and I’ve accepted that.

It would help it you did too.

Certainly, your offer yesterday to aid my sister during her time of mourning touched my heart, although your offer also sent a spear of wild and savage jealousy tearing through me. I too wish to spend such blessed time alone with you, as my sister soon shall.

Please know that you are, and always will be, the holder of my heart.

Yours forever,

James.

 

With his missive penned, he dribbled hot red wax and pressed his Donnelly ring into the seal then added the letter to the wooden box in which he stored all his letters addressed to her. Letters which she’d never see.

She was the only woman he’d ever wanted, quite fiercely at times, but the futility of wanting her during this difficult time wasn’t acceptable. It might take years for him to uncover all he needed to in his current investigation. He certainly hoped it didn’t, but his duty right now was inescapable. He had to unearth his father and brother’s murderer, ensure justice was served, as well as take care of his sister during these difficult days as they mourned.

With a deep breath, he pushed back his chair and strode upstairs to ready himself for the day ahead. Each day these past two months, he’d done so with a deep longing in his heart to have all his family surrounding him, his mother who he and Maria had lost three years ago, and now his father and brother.

All three of them gone forever, but never forgotten.

Always, he’d hold them in his heart.

He closed his bedchamber door, while Woodman stood at his dresser and removed his clothing for the day and laid it on the bed, the ornate blue and gold brocade canopy tied back with matching tassels at the bedposts.

Boots shucked, he lobbed the rest of his clothes into Woodman’s arms as his man stepped up to him, then he crossed to his tub and sank into the blessed warmth of the steaming water. The fire crackled and warmth flowed through his chamber.

He scrubbed himself with a bar of sandalwood soap, dunked his head and when he came up, cleaned his hair. Done with his bath as quickly as he could, he rose to his feet in the tub and waited as Woodman poured a pail of warm water over his head. Suds sluiced down his body and pooled around his ankles.

From the chair next to the hearth, he snagged the drying cloth and wrapped it around himself then stepped clear of his bath. A quick dry and he donned a pair of his favorite buff breeches, buttoned he collected his pistol from his drawer and slid it into his pocket.

Downstairs, he trod, counseling himself once more as he’d done each day since he’d become the Earl of Donnelly. The killer would pay for his crimes, and it was his duty above all else to see that done.

In the dining room, he sat and laid a napkin over his lap.

He partook of a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, followed by fresh bread rolls and a steaming pot of hot chocolate, a splash of brandy lacing his cup which Woodman poured into it. As he ate, he read the newspaper, his man leaving after he’d raised a thankful hand and dismissed him.

“Good morning, my dear brother.”

Shocked, all he could do was stare at her.

For the past two months, she’d only ever broken her fast in her chamber by taking a tray.

Since his return a week past, she hadn’t joined him even once, no matter his request she did. She’d sent her apologies, which he’d accepted.

Yesterday’s visit from Sophia had truly worked wonders.

There could be no other reason for her return to the dining room table.

He hoisted to his feet, pulled out the padded burgundy chair closest to his chair and motioned for her to sit. This morning she’d dressed not in full black as she usually did, but in a muted shade of dove-gray with white trim around the cuffs of her blouse and hem of her skirts. A yellow rose was pinned to her blouse, right over her heart, a nod to his mother’s love of the same flower, while her dove-gray veil flowed overtop of her brown locks twisted into an elegant chignon.

Heart brimming with gratefulness, he kissed the top of her head as she took her seat. “You look lovely today. Father and George would approve of your choice of clothing. They’d never wish for either of us to grieve so deeply each and every day, but instead to remember how they lived their lives to the fullest, and for us to do the same.”

“Yes, and this morning I awoke with the fierce need to sit with you so I might break my fast, provided you have no issue with my returned company?” Rosy cheeked, she smiled teasingly, which brought forth his own smile.

“As long as you don’t hog all the hot chocolate, then I should be able to manage.”

“You are the one who always hogs the hot chocolate.” She poured herself a generous cupful of the steaming brew and stirred in a teaspoon of sugar. After a sip and a heartfelt, “Mmm, delicious,” she asked, “Are you still meeting Ashten this morning and driving to the docks?”

“Yes, I would appreciate his keen eye as I go over Father’s papers at the warehouse offices. The Fortune Maria is also due back in port today or on the morrow, and I wish to be there when Captain Lewiston sails in.” Lewiston had left London before his father and brother had passed away and he wouldn’t be aware of what had happened while he’d been at sea. The captain would be shocked, no doubt, just as they’d all been on hearing the news.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you? With your investigations at the docks, that is?”

“Of course, and the duke is a crack-shot with his pistol should we encounter any rough sorts. I’d like to think I’m not a bad shot either. I can certainly defend myself should that be necessary.” He patted the pocket of his breeches, the familiar feel of his pistol reassuring.

“Have you received word from Uncle John yet?” She buttered a roll and bit into it.

“No, and it could be weeks before he learns of Father and George’s death, then several more before we receive correspondence from him.”

“I’ve always longed to travel to Jamaica and visit him. Our uncle’s letters describe the island as a veritable whirlpool of cultures colliding.” A radiant smile lifted her lips, excitement ringing in her tone. “It has been so long since he was last here.”

“I’m not sure how he survives the heat. Jamaica is intolerably hot compared to England.”

“You’re so fortunate to have spent three months with him before traveling deeper into the interior of the Americas. I wish I could have gone with you.” She leaned forward, her brown eyes glittering. “Tell me all about that trip two years ago.”

“Well, Jamaica is stunning, and the beaches are white with palm trees dotted all along the coastline.” His father had asked him to visit each of the ports along their coastal route of the Americas where they traded, which he had. “The land is exotic, with sugarcane growing profusely. You will get to travel there one day, I’m sure.”

“What of the pirates?” Excitement bubbled from her. “Are they as rowdy and unruly as I’ve heard? Did you ever encounter any?”

“Yes, the islands of the Caribbean are home to a great nest of pirates. They swagger about the streets, trafficking their outlandish loot to merchants and other buyers. They fill their pockets with gold, then squander their bootie in the gambling rooms, then they carouse and brawl. They’re filled with bloodlust, always searching the seas for one hefty prize or another.” He tapped her nose then resumed reading his newspaper. “Should a pirate ever come across you, you’d be a prize he’d seek to capture and never return.”

“Father used to warn me that if I misbehaved, he’d send me to Uncle John. I think that made me want to misbehave even more, so I could see the island our uncle calls home.” Grinning, she snuck the butter knife from the slab of butter and swung the short-curved blade back and forth like a sword. She slashed one corner of his paper then stabbed right through the middle. A giggle as she pressed her nose to the paper and batted one eye through the slot. “Give me yer treasure, me hearty, or ye’ll walk the plank.”

His sister’s playfulness had returned, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

Chuckling, he folded the paper and tapped it on her head. “If ye keep misbehaving then ahoy, to the high seas ye’ll go.”

“You can heave ho.” She stabbed her knife into a fresh roll and tore a bite off the bread.

“You have lost all decorum.”

“I wouldn’t mind meeting an actual pirate.” Another tearing bite.

“You would change your mind rather fast if you did.”

“There must be a good reason why pirates have chosen a wicked path over an honorable one. Maybe they had no choice but to plunder in order to survive. Everyone deserves the chance for redemption, even pirates. Don’t you agree?”

“No.” He plucked her stabbed roll, spread butter and preserves on it and chewed. “Are you looking forward to your trip to the museum?”

“Exceedingly.” She raised a brow, chin propped in her upturned palms. “You could join us later in the day if you finish your investigations before it gets too late. I’d adore it, as I’m sure Sophia would too.”

“Joining you, Sophia, and her sisters won’t be possible.” He couldn’t place himself within sniffing distance of the lady who tempted his desires as no other ever could, otherwise he’d be sneaking her into a side room and stealing kisses from her as he had yesterday. A repeat of that incident would be dangerous. Exceedingly dangerous.

“I’m certain you’d have fun.”

“Having fun is the problem.”

“Ah, excuse me, my lord.” Woodman stood in the doorway, a smile rising as he spied Maria at the table. “I do beg your pardon for the interruption. Your carriage is ready at nine as requested.”

“Excellent. Fetch my greatcoat and hat, Woodman.” He rose and pressed a kiss to Maria’s cheek. “I’ve thoroughly enjoyed breaking my fast with you. I’ll be home at eight for dinner, and we can discuss pirates and the saving of their horrid souls further then.”

“Be sure to observe all you can at the warehouse and report back to me on all you uncover.” Brow arched, she handed him a shiny red apple from the center of the table, a favorite fruit of his.

“Are you an investigator now?” He pocketed the apple for later.

“No, but I need to be aware of what’s going on. I’ve been wallowing in my grief and not being as present as I should be. You and I only have each other, and I intend to be the best sister ever.”

“You’re my only sister, so being the best is already guaranteed, although I’ll inform you about all that I uncover at dinner tonight, provided you inform me about all you observe today at the museum. If you don’t regale me with fascinating tales, then I shan’t share a thing with you.” With long strides, he crossed to the door and with one last glance over his shoulder, winked at his sister. “And by fascinating tales, I mean regarding Sophia. I need to keep an eye on her at present, and no, you may not ask why.”

“Why?” She laughed.

“You’re an impossible imp.”

Her continued laughter followed him out the front door, his sister’s good humor once more returned to him. His heart swelled with happiness.